Mark You Mine
by cloudosaurus
Summary: "Mello gulped. But he was nothing if not dogged, and he was definitely not pleased with Matt. Not even if Matt was a sinfully beautiful angel whose very existence sometimes did strange things to Mello's heart." In which Mello gets jealous, and Matt may or may not be oblivious. [MattxMello.]


It had been there late last night when Mello, smelling of gunpowder and expensive cologne, stomped into their tiny one-bedroom apartment to find Matt sprawled across the secondhand bed that they shared. Like usual, he was mostly on the blond's side of the bed rather than his own, red hair mussed and soft lips parted as he clutched at Mello's blanket and mumbled quiet, sleepy nothings. Like usual, Mello had rolled his eyes, considered just shoving Matt away, and then kicked off his boots, stripped down to his underwear, and climbed onto the redhead's side of the bed. He huffed, blowing a stray golden strand out of his face, and wrapped himself in Matt's blanket. It was tattered, with small holes in some places, patched up carelessly in others, and the same exact one that Matt had been using when Mello had left Wammy's. It had been new then; now it smelled like the cigarettes the redhead liked to smoke – like ash and nutty, burnt dark chocolate.

It had been there when Mello woke up this morning to the cacophony of city traffic and a glaring Los Angeles sun, whose rays pierced through thin blinds as if to admonish him that 9 a.m. was already too late. That too much time had already been lost in a city that never seemed to stop bustling. Mello had groaned, buried his face in Matt's pillow, and then sent his own glare towards the redhead who continued to slumber blissfully, completely unaffected by the world. Mello had felt spite, then, because it wasn't fucking fair that he slept later _and_ woke up earlier than Matt, who did nothing but sit staring at screens and amuse himself all day. So he prodded Matt's skinny stomach none too gently, and Matt twitched and yelped as his eyes shot open, and Mello felt momentarily appeased. But then Matt's green – very green – eyes had focused in on his blue ones, and the redhead frowned, eyebrows scrunching and pink – very pink – lip jutting into a pout, and Mello cursed under his breath because fuck, he wasn't supposed to feel this way.

It was still there now, as Mello sat on the couch, long, leather-clad legs splayed out in front of him, gnawing petulantly on a chocolate bar. Matt was sitting cross-legged on the floor at his feet; so close that Mello might accidentally let his knee brush against the soft crimson locks that framed his pale face. And Matt probably wouldn't care – probably wouldn't _notice_, Mello corrected himself, because he was so utterly lost to whatever 2D world was playing out on the screen in front of them. The redhead sat almost completely still – stiller than he could ever be without the joystick in his hands; only his long fingers sometimes moving so fast that if Mello stared hard enough, they became a blur. Matt's eyes were glued to the screen, colored with an intensity Mello knew only showed itself in moments like this. And Mello caught himself wondering if Matt could ever look at anything – at anyone – else so intently.

The game beeped and Matt frowned, worrying his lip and shifting slightly. His baggy striped shirt slipped across his collarbone and down his shoulder, revealing milky white skin. Almost unblemished. Mello's teeth bit into the chocolate with an audible snap.

"Who the fuck are you seeing?"

Mello set his half-eaten bar of chocolate down next to Matt's goggles, on a dusty coffee table cluttered with spare revolvers and bullet cartridges and an overflowing ashtray. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and spoke in a low voice next to the shell of Matt's ear.

If Matt was startled, he didn't show it, and Mello thought that maybe the sound of leather squeaking gave him away. But Matt kept on playing like Mello didn't even fucking exist - like he wasn't intruding so blatantly into the redhead's personal space, breath warm against his ear and silky blond strands cool as they ghosted over his high cheekbones.

It was once the annoying beeping finally stopped that Matt's grip on the controller relaxed and he chose to acknowledge Mello's existence. If it had been anyone else, Mello would have impressed the importance of his will upon them such that it could never be forgotten. But this was Matt, and things had always been a little bit different with Matt.

Matt tilted his head back so that it flumped onto the couch, pressed against the side of Mello's thigh. He blinked up at the blond through long, dark lashes that fluttered as his eyes struggled to focus on Mello's face. Matt was barely an inch away, close enough for Mello to see the pale freckles that danced across his cheeks, and the specks of gold in his eyes that caught the warm rays of the setting sun and sparkled. Close enough that Mello could kiss his pretty mouth, just like this.

Matt's lips parted ever so slightly and Mello abruptly drew back, straightening. Matt closed his mouth but his emerald eyes followed Mello's movement, and he pressed closer to the blond.

"What?" Matt dared to ask, even though there was a slight tug at the corner of his lips, and he was wearing a façade of innocence that Mello recognized from their midnight escapades at Wammy's, when the redhead would smuggle cigarettes and Mello would tag along, mostly to be rebellious and maybe to feel nearer to Matt.

Mello crossed his arms across his chest and then crossed his legs, so that Matt's head lost its support and flopped over, unbalanced. He narrowed his eyes and pinned Matt under his coldest glare – similar to but much worse than the kind that had earned him the nickname Ice Princess, whispered amongst small children that watched Mello from afar, never trying to get close. Matt had been the only one who dared to.

Now, his crooked smile just seemed to widen, as though he found Mello's attempt at being domineering amusing. Endearing. Mello gritted his teeth and scowled.

"I said, who the fuck are you seeing."

Mello said this as a command rather than a question, voice maybe a few shades angrier than he felt or maybe not, just so that Matt would get the message. And the redhead did get the message, alright. His eyebrows raised a fraction, eyes widening, and the hint of a cheeky smile that had been creeping up his face vanished.

He turned around until Mello couldn't read his expression, and redirected his attention to the colorful abstract world on the screen. The game was still running, Mello realized, and Matt couldn't save. Matt realized this as well, and he began to fiddle frantically with the joystick, cursing as he tried to salvage what he'd been working towards all this time. But Mello would be having none of that.

He shifted, lifted a leg, hesitated, and then brought his foot down decidedly on Matt's upper thigh, right next to his crotch. Mello had meant to be intimidating, but when the warmth of Matt's body radiated through his jeans to the bottom of his foot, Mello acutely comprehended that he wasn't wearing shoes. And a bare foot was rather ineffective compared to the sole of a steel-toed combat boot. It was also more awkwardly suggestive than Mello had intended, and clearly he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Matt froze. The tips of his ears burned as red as his hair, and Mello felt an irritating heat spread across his own face. So, to get the point across, he pressed down harder. Matt's thigh was skinny, but lean and firm beneath the worn denim. The redhead exhaled slowly, shakily, and though his blush seemed to recede, he remained stiff, fingers paused mid-motion. Matt stared at Mello's pale foot with its manicured black nails on his blue jeans, and gulped.

Matt deliberated for a few more moments, gaze flitting back and forth between the game and Mello's foot poised at his crotch. When it dawned on him that the foot wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, he entertained Mello. As he should have done since the start.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Matt muttered, so quiet that the blond had to strain his ears to catch the words.

It occurred to Mello that Matt had spoken purposefully softly to get on his nerves. That, coupled with the fact that he was fucking _lying_ right through his teeth sent Mello's blood rushing to his head. He growled, leapt off the couch to pounce on the redhead, and wrestled him to the floor.

Matt yelped in surprise as Mello tackled him down to the ground, but maybe he was stunned, because he didn't really put up much of a fight. At least, not until the blond swiped at the controller clutched tightly in Matt's hand to send it clattering across the floor, all the way to the other end of the room where it lodged itself beneath a bookshelf that was empty save for Mello's bible. It shook, and the bible almost tipped over.

The game began to beep again, louder and faster than before. Matt squirmed under Mello, twisting this way and that, trying desperately to reach for his joystick. Trying desperately to escape. Matt looked nice like this, wide-eyed and open-mouthed and panicky as he struggled against Mello. He felt nice too, hips grinding against the blond's as he bucked, the plump swell of his ass just where Mello liked it.

But Mello had a point to prove. So he straddled Matt's waist firmly, pinned his thin wrists above his head with a grip that would bruise, and yanked his loose shirt so hard that the threads snapped. Mello fisted the fabric and pulled until the neckline of Matt's shirt stretched down over the smooth expanse of his chest, until half of a rosebud nipple peeked through. Mello resisted the urge to lick his lips.

He directed his gaze to the mark that had been eating at him ever since he'd come home.

"Then what the hell is this?"

Mello glared daggers at the large, dark bruise on Matt's collarbone.

Matt had stilled into compliancy by now, but he turned his head away and refused to look Mello in the eye. He stared at the wall, at the spot where yellowed vintage wallpaper met grey tile.

"It's a hickey," he said finally, when Mello lost his patience and started to sink his long, sharp nails into the thin skin of Matt's wrists. Matt looked up at Mello with a poker face – and shit, because Matt's poker face was almost as good as Near's – and Mello had no idea if Matt was annoyed, or if he was trying to annoy Mello, or both.

But Mello was definitely annoyed.

"I _know_ that Matty," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Which is why I asked. Who. Are you. Fucking. Seeing?"

"'M not seeing anyone," Matt mumbled again, louder, eyebrows furrowing.

He looked cute. Mello stabbed at the fucking hickey. Matt winced.

"Then why do you have this?"

Out of the corner of his eye, the blond saw something on the screen explode. The beeping intensified and the music crescendoed, and Matt's HP bar became red. Matt squirmed again, a little wriggle and a tug against Mello's hold that was more hopeful than determined, an attempt to see if Mello would take pity and relinquish. Mello did not.

"It was a one-night stand," Matt said, and Mello could hear the plea creep into his voice as his poker face melted. It was replaced by big, glittering puppy dog eyes that made Mello swallow and his chest tighten, and he almost felt bad. Almost, but not quite.

"With who?" he demanded.

Now, Matt's avatar burst into neon rainbow flames that swelled and swelled until they covered the entire screen and then turned black. The music changed from dramatic to melancholy, and Matt's mouth twisted.

"You stink like sex almost every night you come back, so why the hell are you getting worked up about a _hickey_?"

Matt's green eyes were piercing, and he met Mello's gaze evenly. He didn't glare, just kept looking at Mello like he could see straight into the depths of his soul. It was a quiet challenge, aimed exactly where it would hurt Mello the most. Mello probably deserved it.

Mello wanted to protest. He wanted to say that it wasn't _his_ fault he lived like this. It wasn't _his_ fault that he'd been raised so that becoming L's successor was the only thing that gave his life meaning; the only thing that filled the dark, gaping void where his identity should have been. That he was literally fucking incapable of changing his path, because nobody had ever bothered to show him a world in which things could be different. In which it would be okay for things to be different.

It wasn't _his_ fault that he had to sell his mind and body and soul to reach for the top because he wasn't born number one. Because he was fucking human. Mello wanted to say that it wasn't _his_ fault he wanted Matt like this – _needed_ Matt like this – even if he could never be what Matt wanted him to be. Could never give Matt what he deserved.

But Mello didn't say these things. He kept them locked up somewhere deep down within himself, in a dusty little corner of his heart that he had long ago decided to forget the existence of. Thrown away the key to. Maybe because Mello was too proud. Maybe he was too scared. Maybe because he had no idea how to express these sorts of things since no one had cared enough to teach him how.

So Mello let himself get arrested by those bottomless stormy eyes instead, and that tiny part of him, buried somewhere underneath a mountain of bravado and unacknowledged regrets, wondered if Matt could read his blue ones; could understand the feelings that Mello was incapable of figuring out he felt, let alone trying to voice.

The soft evening sunlight streamed onto Matt's face. He looked radiant, and Mello bit his lip. Those dangerous eyes made a show of traveling down to his mouth. They lingered there, and then Matt looked back up, straight at Mello. He arched an eyebrow, and Mello suddenly felt very naked, even though he was completely clothed. Because Matt was really good at observing, and maybe he'd noticed how Mello's gaze had become warm rather than hot, tinged with a pained tenderness that it wasn't supposed to hold; how even though Mello still clutched Matt's wrists with one hand, the other had smoothed his crumpled shirt and was resting gently over Matt's heart.

Mello gulped. But he was nothing if not dogged, and he was definitely not pleased with Matt. Not even if Matt was a sinfully beautiful angel whose very existence sometimes did strange things to Mello's heart.

"Why'd you let them mark you?" he asked, leaning closer until he thought he could count each and every one of Matt's long, crimson lashes.

"Why does it matter?" Matt asked back. He tilted his chin defiantly, and their breaths mingled.

"Because-," Mello began, and then frowned, biting at the inside of his cheek.

"_Because_-," he tried again. He let go of Matt's wrists, and clenched and unclenched his fists. Matt didn't push Mello – didn't get up and walk away – even though he could have, and Mello squeezed Matt's shoulders.

_I want you to be mine even though I can't be yours_, he didn't say.

Matt studied Mello's face. His eyes roamed across his sharp eyebrows that were drawn together, his nose, the lips that Mello opened and closed soundlessly and then licked.

Mello took half a breath, closed his eyes, and leaned forward to erase the distance left between their mouths. He kissed Matt desperately, pressing his lips against the redhead's hard enough that they would bruise. Matt's mouth didn't move at first, and a surge of unsure panic welled up within Mello's chest. It was only when the panic threatened to spill out of him and hot tears pricked uncomfortably behind his eyelids, that Matt finally kissed Mello back. It was a hesitant sort of kiss but it was a kiss nonetheless, and something inside Mello quieted. He pulled away slowly, not quite wanting to, but feeling like he was supposed to.

Matt looked at Mello without saying a word. Regarded him. His eyes no longer smouldered, but now they were solemn, and Mello felt uneasy. He stuck out his chin and held Matt's gaze without flinching, because _he_ was the one supposed to be mad, not Matt who let strangers mark him after spending a single night in the same bed. So, Mello did not falter and his lip definitely did not tremble, even though the world blurred suspiciously, like his eyes were filled to the brim with wet tears.

Matt sighed quietly after some time, and his gaze softened. He brushed Mello's cheek, feather-light. His fingers were gentle and cool, and Mello leaned in to his touch.

Matt let him. He cradled Mello's face, stroking his cheek with his thumb, and then his fingers traveled down to the slender nape of Mello's neck. They paused there, playing thoughtfully with silky blond locks so that Mello hummed, before Matt gently urged Mello closer.

Matt's eyes fluttered shut and he offered his mouth to Mello, and Mello felt so, _so_ warm, down to the tips of his toes. He kissed Matt's waiting lips eagerly, tangling a hand in his dark red hair, and Matt smiled a small smile against his mouth, kissing Mello harder. His lips were moist and plump, and they moulded together with Mello's; a perfect fit.

Mello deepened the kiss, biting and sucking Matt's full lower lip. Matt moaned quietly, and the hands wrapped around Mello's shoulders travelled to bury themselves in Mello's hair as his mouth parted. Mello slipped his tongue into Matt's mouth, past his oh-so-sweet lips. Their tongues slid against each other, intertwining in a wet dance that had them both moaning, until Matt let Mello pin him down and roam the hot, silky cavity of his mouth as he pleased.

Mello reclaimed Matt's mouth rather than exploring it, because he had already memorized everything about Matt's body long ago. Matt tasted like cigarettes and candy, and made soft, pleased sounds in the back of his throat under Mello's ministrations.

But Mello wanted more. He took a hand that had been tugging at strawberry-scented crimson locks, and slid it underneath Matt's shirt. Matt shivered and hissed in protest because Mello's hand was _cold_, but Mello let it rest on Matt's taut skin, just above the waistband of his boxers. Matt grumbled but didn't break the kiss, so Mello slowly trailed it up, fingers dipping into and circling around Matt's bellybutton so that the redhead gasped; ghosting over the outline of his abs and then the smooth, supple skin of his chest, until Matt's breaths became heavy and he clutched Mello tightly.

Mello's fingers found a nipple. He brushed it gently, and smirked as the bud stiffened obediently at his touch. Matt whimpered and arched his back. Mello played with the nipple tenderly, and then pinched and twisted the peaked nub without warning; hard but not hard enough to hurt – just how Matt liked it, and Matt groaned loudly, bucking against Mello. And _oh_, it was such a sinful, sexy sound that went straight down to Mello's swelling cock.

Mello gave the same treatment to Matt's other nipple. The redhead whined into his mouth, and Mello swallowed his moans, greedy. Matt's hands twisted and pulled at Mello's hair. His nails scraped over the blond's scalp, and Mello moaned. He bit Matt's lips roughly until he was lapping at the hot, metallic taste of blood, and flicked Matt's nipples, both at the same time. Matt threw his head back with a shudder. He mewled, thrusting his hips up hard so that their erections ground, and they both groaned. Mello ground right back. Matt was hot and hard beneath him, and Mello fucked him through their pants, rutting him into the floor, because _god_, it had been so long since it had been him and Matt, together like this.

Matt was moaning wantonly now, voice breathy and strained as he tried to match the frantic rhythm of Mello's thrusts. Mello's cock strained painfully against his tight leather pants, and he thought he could come, just like this. But he didn't want to, not yet. Not now. Not this way.

It was with considerable effort that Mello stilled his hips. His breaths were labored and ragged as he pulled away from Matt. Their mouths parted with a slick, wet pop. Matt's lips glistened, dark and wet with saliva and blood, and he made a small, needy noise of protest. He looked up at Mello with half-lidded eyes; those bruised, swollen lips forming an impossibly perfect pout, and tugged at Mello's black t-shirt, jerking his hips insistently.

Mello inhaled sharply. His cock twitched at the sight of Matt like this underneath him – _because_ of him – and he groaned. He looked down to the big tent at the front of Matt's jeans. Mello palmed Matt's cock through the denim. It was harder than his own, maybe, and Mello could feel precum, wet and sticky through the fabric.

"Unh!" Matt hissed, bit his lip, and made an unintelligible sound, thrusting against Mello's hand. His eyes squeezed shut and he panted softly, gripping Mello's wrist to keep him in place around his erection.

Mello swallowed thickly and fingered Matt's fly.

He wanted so badly to taste Matt's cock, to take it deep inside his throat and make love to it – choke on it, and then flip Matt over and pound into the tight heat of his ass until Matt was senseless, drowning in ecstasy; filled with Mello, focused on nothing but Mello.

Matt whined again.

"_Mel_," he said, like he needed Mello as badly as Mello needed him. Mello's breath hitched.

Matt stared up at Mello with darkened green eyes glazed with pleasure and lust, looking so pliant that it _made_ Mello want to do things to him. Terrible, sinful things that would make a mess out of Matt. And Matt kept looking at Mello almost as if he'd be okay with it, too.

Matt's cheeks were flushed scarlet with exertion and a vague embarrassment at the delicious sounds he'd been making – that Mello would definitely be having more of. His mouth was parted, and his chest rose and fell with shallow, rapid gulps of air. Matt's shirt had ridden up to reveal the pearly, taut skin of his stomach. Mello's eyes wandered over it, down to where his jeans hung low on his hips.

Mello decided first to tangle his fingers in Matt's mussed hair and pull. Matt tilted his head obediently, exposing the pale column of his throat. Mello gave Matt's open mouth a chaste kiss and then trailed butterfly kisses down his jaw. He stopped at the hollow of his throat, where he sucked and bit the thin skin until it was an angry red, and Matt was mewling at Mello to please stop, even though his cock had swelled and he wrapped his hands around Mello's back to pull him closer.

Matt looked absolutely gorgeous right now, limbs splayed, face flushed, heady moans spilling from spit-wet lips. And Mello couldn't help that his blood boiled at the thought of someone else seeing Matt like this. Someone else doing these kinds of things to Matt – Matt _letting_ someone else do these kinds of things to him.

So Mello decided next that he would mark Matt's body from head to toe, with sweet love bites and bruises that hurt and scratches that bled. He would take Matt out like that, to wander the crowded streets late at night, one arm wrapped possessively around his slender waist as they headed to nowhere. So that everyone would see just whose he was.

But Matt didn't need to know that for now, so Mello leaned in and kissed him again, deceptively soft.


End file.
